


Blackbird Song

by DjDangerLove



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: Bat Brothers, Bat Family, Big Brother Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Dystopian AU Nobody Asked For, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt/Comfort, No Slash, Partially Deaf Dick Grayson, Protective Bruce Wayne
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 13:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16430159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DjDangerLove/pseuds/DjDangerLove
Summary: "It’s been eighty-two days since it happened. Eighty-two days in the new world and he’s lived to see his seventeenth birthday. " The Grade took over four days after Christmas leaving Gotham in shambles and the Wayne family even worse. They'll survive one way or another. Dick will make sure of it.(Or: The Dystopian AU nobody asked for that I'm using as an excuse to write Bat Dad and Bat Brothers with a whole lot of hurt/comfort and family feels.)





	Blackbird Song

**Author's Note:**

> This story is just an excuse to give myself the Bat Family feels I really want so don't expect canon compliance or a direct correlation with any of the comics.

The rain over Gotham comes down in sheets, obscuring the thunderous clouds above in a similar way that Pop Haly’s circus tent had hid away the poles, brackets, and cables that had brought his traveling arena to life. Long gone are the days of bright yellows, reds, and greens illuminated by fat rounded bulbs twinkling around awed crowds. And well…..long gone are the days. 

Dick Grayson sits beside the bedroom window that overlooks a portion of the street where rain puddles in a pothole. Leafing through the pages of his journal, he finds the last entry and makes a vertical line next to the previous he’d made just yesterday. The line stays identical to its predecessors while the teenager runs his fingers across the marks to count them. He stops just shy of his latest entry though, its significance catching him off guard. He’s hesitant to mark its permanence, careful not to hold onto things that don’t matter anymore. With a quick scribble of his pen, he makes a flame just above today’s line so it looks like a candle. 

It’s been eighty-two days since it happened. Eighty-two days in the new world and he’s lived to see his seventeenth birthday. 

Giving no more mind to the date since the tally sits well inked into a page that hasn't been burdened by the outside world, Dick makes sure to wrap the notebook back up in its protective cloth before stuffing it into his backpack underneath his sneakers. He curls back up onto the window sill and places his good ear up against the rain chilled glass. The rain outside sounds more like white noise, droplets coming down too fast to make an individual impact which is made worse by the muffled way his ear picks it up, but it’s soothing all the same. 

Soothing until the wood underneath him vibrates with booted footfalls pounding down the hallway. The vibrations stop once their owner comes to stand beside him and swat at his head. “Hey, Dickiebird,” Jason says once he’s sure his older brother is looking at him. “If you don’t get to the kitchen soon, the demon is gonna eat your stuff.”

Dick smiles at the way his brother moves his hands, and while he didn’t exactly sign the right words and in some cases not words at all, he’s grateful for it all the same.

“Stop calling him that, Jay,” he sighs while standing up and folding his blanket. He places it on his bedroll before turning to his brother still lingering behind him. “Besides we both know you’re the one that eats more than his ration.” 

“True,” Jason concedes and tugs Dick by the sleeve of his sweater so he has no choice but to follow him. “But today, even the Brat has asked for a second serving.”

Jason dumps them into the kitchen quite literally. He’s like a bull in a china shop, strides too long for their confined living quarters but too stubborn to do anything about it. Even though the hallway they’d just came from only consists of two small bedrooms and a bathroom, they’d taken it at a pace more suited for the manor. Therefore, more quickly than he can process, Dick finds himself being pushed into the seat between Bruce and his youngest brother at their round kitchen table with a plate under his nose holding two slices of toast and the jam from Mrs. Hoddlesworth that Bruce splurges on only once a month. He thought they’d eaten the last of it two weeks ago, but their supply run wasn’t for another week. 

“Wow,” he feels himself whisper, before glancing at Bruce who scoots a glass of water towards him with a hint of a smile curling up one side of his mouth. 

“Happy Birthday, Chum,” Bruce says while laying one of his large hands at the back of Dick’s head and giving it a little shake. “Mrs. Hoddlesworth sends her wishes, as well.”

So they had been out. It makes Dick’s hungry stomach feel a little fuller for reasons he doesn’t want to think about and suddenly he thinks there’s too much on his plate. Bruce must notice because he gives Dick’s plate a small tap and says, “Eat up. This was the last of her batch from last month. It’s about to sour.”

One small taste of the undoubtedly fresh jam and he knows that’s a lie.

He feels a nudge against his foot and looks up across the table at Tim who grins at him sheepishly. “Happy birthday,” he says along with moving one hand in front of his chest then touching his middle finger to his chin before bringing it back down to touch his chest. 

He smiles proudly at his brother while thanking him before turning to the gentle tug on his left arm. Damian eyes Tim for a moment before performing the same hand motions as the older boy, but adds on the letters of Dick’s name for good measure. He doesn’t need to hear Jason’s scoff to know that both he and Tim gave an eye-roll at the youngest’s expense. 

“Thanks, Dami,” he says while throwing an arm around him for a hug. 

“Of course, Grayson,” is his reply, but it is cut off by Jason’s overdramatic moan of pleasure while biting into a piece of toast.

“Can you not do that?”  
“Can you not-“

Dick is thankful that Jason sat him to the left of Bruce, because while the inevitable bickering takes place around the table between the youngest three, he’s able to turn his deaf ear towards them and give his attention to Bruce. 

In lieu of the traditional sign for thank you, Dick places his hand on Bruce’s elbow as that has become the family’s own shorthand over the past couple of months. The older man nods, but Dick tightens his hand so that Bruce knows Dick hasn’t taken it lightly that he did something special for his birthday even if they could feel the repercussions of it in a few days if they aren’t careful. 

“I know, Dick. It’s alright. I promise. Anyways, I need to pick up some more plywood today. I’m afraid if we get anymore rain the back roof won’t be able to hold. Would you mind tagging along?”

Dick nods quickly before glancing over at his brothers who have went from bickering loudly to signing insults at each other that definitely didn’t come from the sign language books Jason _borrowed_ from the abandoned library four miles north of them. 

“Believe it or not, Jason can look after them,” Bruce assures, already knowing his thoughts. Dick gives his adoptive father’s arm one more gentle squeeze before eating his birthday breakfast.

 

—————————

Mr. Daffney has Bruce’s order ready by the time they make the two mile walk into town. Dick had begged to stop by and hug Mrs. Hoddlesworth for the extra jam even though the rain hadn’t let up all morning, so Mr. Daffeny gives a laugh when the pair of them walk into his store dripping wet despite their raincoats and boots. 

“Should’ve came yesterday, Wayne. The sun was shining,” the shop worker offers while packing up the boxed wood into a plastic protector.

“Yesterday was Monday, Harold,” Bruce replies evenly, although Dick knows his patience is limited when it comes to Mr. Daffney. “They run checks on Monday. On the North border and the West. I prefer to keep my boys away from that sort of thing as much as I can.”

“We all do, Wayne, but givin’ ‘em the crud ain’t no better. Not with the way Doc operates.”

“Are you going to charge me for parenting advice or just the wood? Dick and I need to be on our way.”

“I reckon just the wood. I imagine they’d send the calvary after me if they found out I’d been charging for that sort of thing,” he hands over the large package to Bruce who places it into a shoulder strap so he can carry it back. “But Dick here, he’s known to be a smart one. You might just get away with selling a piece of your mind, kid” Mr. Daffney winks at him, always humored by Dick’s quips when he offers them. 

“Well, the thing is Mr. Daffney, no one around here could afford it. So I just like to give it freely,” Dick laughs while handing over the money for the wood. Mr.Daffney chuckles before giving Dick back a dollar even though he’d given the correct amount. 

“You could get in trouble with the Grade for doing that. Consider this my payment,” he says while shooing him along. “Now off with you. Bruce is leaving ya.”

Sure enough, Bruce has already made it outside but they both know the man wasn’t going out of eyesight. “See ya, Mr. Daffney,” Dick calls while jogging to catch up to Bruce. Once he’s by the man’s side he holds out the extra dollar so that Bruce can put it back in his pocket. 

The adoptive father rolls his eyes and trudges along the path back to their house. “What’ve I told you about that, Dick.”

The kid makes a show of walking backwards in front of Bruce and tugging on his deaf ear with a look of confusion. 

“Stop that. And no more of this,” he emphasizes by snatching the dollar from the boy’s hand and waving it. “I don’t want any more dealings with that man than necessary.”

“Aw, he’s not so bad.”

“Says you.”

“Says everyone but you.”

Bruce wipes the rain out of his eyes with his forearm, but Dick knows he’s trying to hide a smile. The newly seventeen year old walks up ahead, just at the edge of the length he knows Bruce is comfortable with and is enjoying the long walk back home. It’s not often they get to go with Bruce into town, so he shortens his stride just a bit to make it last longer. 

Dick thinks back to this morning, when he realized it was his birthday and wonders how a person can feel so old and young at the same time. He wants to talk to Bruce about it, wants someone to understand he’s just a seventeen year old kid in a world where there’s a hardly a chance to be, but then thinks of the way Bruce had lied about the jam. About the way Bruce will probably skip a meal to even out their rations and make up for the money he spent on the extra jar. About how he’ll never say anything more about it.

He swallows down the overwhelming sense of gratitude he feels while tugging at his good ear when what he thinks is a roll of thunder vibrates the ground. However, Bruce is suddenly pulling him into his side and rushing them under some brush for cover. The older man hushes him once they are settled on their bellies, ducked down behind some fallen limbs off the trail. 

Dick feels the vibrations intensify, then hears the sound of the tanks moments later. His heart is hammering painfully inside his chest, and he thinks it’s going to breakthrough when he hears the tank roll to stop just in front of them on the trail. He can’t breathe, and he rolls his head into the ground with the force of the stalled air inside his throat until he feels Bruce’s large hand in his hair holding him still. 

There’s shouting and laughter and howls of things Dick doesn’t even want to hear even if he could and it all sounds so out of place, like the sounds he used to imagine when Bruce would read scary stories under the stars and make the monster noises to a nine year old kid who still believed in the boogeyman. 

It’s silent and still in what feels like a split second, like maybe it hadn’t been there at all. He feels Bruce’s arms around him, a big hand rubbing back and forth across his heart. It’s how Bruce had told him, _promised_ him, he was safe back when he couldn’t hear anything, back when he didn’t feel safe at all. 

He doesn’t remember the tanks rolling away, or when Bruce deemed it safe enough to sit up from their cover, but he remembers enough to know he most likely blacked out again. 

Bruce is talking to him, murmuring things into his deaf ear before maneuvering them so that he can speak into the right. 

“It’s alright, Chum. Everything is alright.”

He feels Bruce’s own heart hammering against his back, feels the way his fingers shake just a bit while rubbing back and forth across his chest, but his voice is even and strong as if that’s enough.

“It’s all going to be okay.”

Dick understands why Bruce lied about the jam, but he doesn’t know why he bothers lying about this.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty nervous about posting this story, but here it is anyway. Hopefully you enjoyed this first little chapter. The next chapter will give more context about the world they are in and focus more on the brothers.  
> I'd love to read your feedback if you have any! Thanks for reading!


End file.
